The Bound
by Pooroxification
Summary: 'What the heck just happened' Fred sleepily murmured to her. 'You're... You're alive.' 'Of course I'm alive. What do you think I am? A ghost' 'Fred, I... I used a reviving spell.' 'Oh, really' 'Yes... On you. And there are consequences.'


Hermione Granger had never believed in destiny or hope. All her life, she had always been a pragmatic person. She sees, perceives and observes, and rarely involved the matter of the heart when it comes to her life. She had always thought that the heart was a fluffy and irrelevant thing. She sometimes found it disconcerting, as the heart will give her humanly feelings at times where she needed them the least. Of course, she didn't hate it. Without these feeling, she wouldn't have been able to find the greater things in her life, like her friends family, the people that she met, and the creatures that she felt compassionate about to help. She understood that she was not a fool enough to not know that a heart was something important to a living being, metaphorically and literally speaking. However, still, she did not feel that the greater capacity of the heart, destiny and hope, is something that she could dwell upon and seek the help she need from. She felt that only hardiness, careful planning and razor-sharp wit would let her pass through this perilous life of hers as normally as it should be.

She had always fought what her body wanted, and what her heart craved, like the rainbow candy she saw in a candy shop in her muggle neighbourhood when she was still a little girl. She fought the sleep in her eyes whenever she had to go through a drone of explanations that a teacher she didn't really like was spouting; she hardened her soft heart and stomach in order to be able to see the blood and gore of war, in order to stand side by side with her friends; she fought her frustration and anger for the two people she cared for the most, and be the calm one for the sake of their sanity and safety.

But there were times when her defences were so weak that she couldn't bare to put them up for as long as she wanted to. Those were the times when Ronald Weasley left them in the Hocrux Hunt, abandoning them with weary bones and broken hearts, or when Harry Potter told her that he was off to see that wretched, snake-like wizard Voldermort all alone, bruised yet determined. Or when it was at this very moment, when this despicably peaceful face of none other than Frederick Weasley was nothing but pale, sleeping, unbreathing. A person as unobservant as this dunderhead Ronald on her right would think that he had already left this world safely into the afterlife. But Hermione had never been a dunderhead in her life (unless if you counted that time with Viktor Krum, who made her giggle girlishly just by a light touch on the arm or the cheek, in which case had now made her furiously blush out of mortification, but she fought to repress it as it was inappropriate behaviour when she was supposed to be mourn -– saddened) and she would be hellbent if somebody had told her otherwise.

Alright, she knew that wanting a person to live or wake up is not a matter of intelligence, not a matter of whether you passed your NEWTs with flawless marks or whether you can recite the Arithmancy textbook without missing a beat. But she had a feeling that deeming this man dead was nothing but foolish. By some inexplicable reason and force, she had hoped. For once she had hoped. She hoped for this person, lying on this hospital bed, tangled in a mess of a few cables, which pumped and let flow to keep his body properly functioning, to scare everyone and let show his signature smile, to be flushed with health, and eyes sparkling with life and happiness. For some idiotic notion, she had hoped that this frustratingly jolly person, would annoy the keeper of the Afterlife with his pranks and mischief and get his butt kicked off, away from his dead and empty subconsciousness and back into the world of the living, if only for the sake of stopping the tears from flowing on the faces around her, and those of her own on her cheeks.

She gripped the ever paling hand of this person, so angel-like in his sleep. He was the picture of melancholic beauty, with his soft white cheeks, as white as a brand-new, unblemished piece of parchment, and his glossy, fiery hair, like the fire of life. It was terrifying for her how death could make a person so enchanting, and she whimpered in sadness again as a lone tear passed down her cheek. This beauty was perhaps the one true gift that Death had left for his family and friends to preserve. Or perhaps it was the only form that Death had found acceptable of a corpse, for a soul that _he_ will preserve. Perhaps, she was wrong. Fred Weasley really was dead. He wasn't coming back. She could almost hear the slow deflation of his lungs, slowly and slowly collapsing as air had gradually left him. She bit her lips in agony as she looked away from the figure in front of her, and set her eyes on the grimy and tense faces of the people she had come to love as a family.

They looked haunted. And perhaps, she did too.

She walked away from his hospital bed, as if being further away from this person would enable her to leave all thoughts of him with him. As she grabbed the glass of water on the side table and sipped on it, she listened to the idle buzz of the radio.

'…the war is now subsequently over…'

'…Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, has now saved the Wizarding World once again, once again for good…'

'…let us take a moment's peace to mourn for the ones who have sacrificed themselves in order for our victory to suffice…'

She closed her eyes and fought the overwhelming feeling in her chest. _Why? People are dying. Only a moment's peace? Have you no respect? Not even a remembrance is enough to honour those who have fought for their lives and for the lives of others. You have no idea… You have no absolutely idea that…_

She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder blade and she jumped. She whipped her head to her left and saw the delicate green eyes of her best friend. She fought the tears that were threatening to spill and wrapped her hands around him soothingly, steadying him as he slightly trembled in grief. All of the Weasleys had had accepted them into their family. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had become their surrogate parents when their real ones were not present with them. All the Wesley children had felt like sisters and brothers to them. Even Percy was someone they would greatly miss if he hadn't gone through the war safely. They loved them with all their hearts, and a lost of another family member for both of them was just nearly too much.

'He-Hermione.'

'Shh, it's alright, Harry,' she said to him.

'Why…' he whispered forlornly. 'Why does he have to go?'

'Harry… he's only in a comma.'

'Well, that's just good, isn't it? We-Well, bloody brilliant for him to be in a comma.' He sniffled. "You heard what they said, Hermione, he has n-no chance. Fred is going to… He's going to…' His trembling became more violent and her grip tightened around him.

'He is still in a coma. We still have hope,' she whispered with him.

'Since when did you rely on hope?'

'Since…' She wearily chuckled. 'Since Fred.'

'Brilliant.' His snort became a gurgle as he exerted himself.

'Harry…'

'I don't want to lose anyone, Hermione.' He admitted. It was an obvious fact to her. 'Not anymore than it should be.'

'There is still a chance, Harry. You know how doctors are like. They only look at the worst possible scenario.'

'Don't they sound like you then?' he chuckled sombrely. 'And you're always right.'

'Harry…' Her voice was pleading, asking him to stop being so distressing. 'Nobody is perfect. Nobody can predict something at a hundred percent accuracy. Nothing in this world is accurate.' She sighed. 'Remember the time when you predicted that you would need to die to defeat Voldermort? You're still here, aren't you? You're still alive, aren't you?'

He sobbed and buried his face deeper in her shoulder. 'I don't know anymore.'

By those word her grip on him loosened and she brought his face in front of him. She could see the shard-like flecks in his eyes, as if his eyes were broken windows, damaged and unrepaired. She had put on herself, since the day when he saved her from the trolls in her first year, the responsibility of bringing Harry together whenever he was down. She was determined to forever be his saving grace whenever he had been beaten and worn, whenever he was depressed, whenever he was lost. Perhaps these promises were the ones that kept her form being anything less than studious, as she had to understand everything in order to save him. And she knew the time when she would save him, and not the other around, would come one day. She was the one who was goig to save the famous, invincible, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. She was the one who would repair those broken shrads he had called eyes and bring him back from his stupor, from his grief, from his lost.

'I will find a way.' She looked at him. 'I will find a way to save him.'

"Hermione…' He looked at her pityingly. 'You can't. He's gone.'

'Then I will make him come back. He's not that far gone yet. I'm sure I can retrieve him back.'

'Hermione...' he said sternly. 'He's not a lost object. He can't be retrieved nor be bought back. He's Fred. Maybe it's best to just… leave him alone.'

'No!' she said loudly, which earned her blank looks of attention from all the worn faces in the room. 'He will be back. I will assure it. I will make him come back. Just wait. Wait for me.'

And so she dashed off from the hospital room, having the intention of unturning all stones that lead to Fred's revival. Her surrounding became a blur as she thought of and recall the things she had learnt during her years of studying. She regarded the list of spells that she had tugged at the front lobe of her brain. It was after 20 minutes of remembering that her walk came to a screeching halt. She found it. The spell that would save him. She found it. Only through her memory. She found it.

She found it. She found it. She found it!

Merlin's pants, she found it! Is this a miracle? Heck if she knew! She found it! Through head rush, she found it!

If she had a choice she would have dance the reggae right then and there. But she rushed back to the hospital, realising, to her chagrin, that she had walked aimlessly without a destination. She waited not a second more before she burst into room 102.

She came up to the bed with 'Frederick Gideon Weasley' written on white board above it and looked at the patient that was encased in it. His eyes were still covered with its heavy lids. His mouth seemed to be smiling in his slumber. For a second, she couldn't bring herself to break that look from his face, but through her selfishness she fought through the feeling, and in seconds she took his left hand carefully in her left one, squeezed it, and placed her right hand gently on his chest. She felt the room quietened as she murmured the incantations she had learnt by heart. She had learnt it in case her parents weren't able to survive the war. Maybe it was a better purpose for reviving this person, the person who is much more precious to her adoptive family than her own parents. She was already selfish enough to obliviate her parents, anyway. With obliviating, she hid the truth from her parents. The truth of the danger she had experienced in her time in the Wizarding Worlds. Maybe there were enough pain dealt on them already. Perhaps... perhaps it was best to leave them alone. Perhaps, it was better to just let them go.

She fought the tears that burnt the inside of her eyelids. She would miss them terribly.

She was momentarily shocked by the tiny heart beat that she felt on her right hand, and became truly excited after registering what had had happened. She squeezed Fred's hand tightly, encouraging him to do more, to show more. She hissed the incantations louder now, with her desperation showing through her hurried words. She insinuated every syllable perfectly without hesitation or stuttering. She said it again and again and felt a warmth coarse through her body. That warmth became malicious heat and it flowed through her body without delay. She clung on to the dress robe that Fred had on and continued to speak. She felt his heart beat unsteadily but strongly now. Her mind had only recited one word. _Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Fred. Please. Please. Please. Please._

His heart rate became more frantic, and she felt her heart had begun to beat as wildly.

_Please. Please. Please. Please. Please._

She felt a tugging feeling in the depth of her breast.

_Please. Please. Please. Please._

From behind her closed eyelids, she could see a bright light emerging from somewhere in front of her.

_Please. Please. Please._

A kind of pain shot up her spine.

_Please. Please. Please._

She gasped and realised that she had ceased reciting the incantations. She started again, but winced as the pain shot more forcefully through her spine.

_Please… Please…_

Her consciousness started to leave her. She fought to regain it, but failed.

_Plea-_

She didn't see the horrified faces and hear the terrified wails of the ones around her as two people tried to catch her before she collapsed onto the ground. Likewise, she didn't see the colour of Fred's weasley's skin turning a light shade of pink, nor had she seen the fluttering of hazy and unfocused turquoise eyes, thoroughly confused by the chaos that was happening all around him.


End file.
